


The Monster at the End of this Book

by Illeana Starbright (SunlightOnTheWater)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: All of Slade's kids have been Ravager at least once, Alternate Universe, Canon has been scrapped for assorted parts, Court of Owls, Former Talon Dick Grayson, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlightOnTheWater/pseuds/Illeana%20Starbright
Summary: It all started when Grant Wilson brought a tiny assassin home, just two years before Batman would find a street kid stealing the tires off of his car. Ten years later Dick Grayson is a specter of terror trying to find his feet away from his formidable Father's shadow, while a revived and recently defeated Jason Todd has set out for a fresh start of his own making. The two of them tangle in Bludhaven, and are still finding their footing with one another, when the Court of Owls decides to return from its long slumber. Things only get more complicated from there.
Relationships: Adeline Kane Wilson/Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Grant Wilson & Rose Wilson & Joseph Wilson & Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson & William Randolph Wintergreen
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_January 22nd, 2:43 AM_

_Bludhaven, New_ _Jersey_

* * *

The city was dark. A cold breeze wafted off the filthy water of the harbor. Dick Grayson stared out into the night from his perch hunched next to one of the snow crusted gargoyles on the roof of the Cathedral of St. Philomena. For the first time in over a week, he felt at peace. Even the way his body rhythms slowed from the cold, preparing for a long hibernation that wouldn't come, couldn't disrupt this sense of calm. His earpiece chimed and he briefly considered ignoring it, but Slade knew better than to contact him when he was still so worked up for anything short of an emergency. He brushed the right spot, but didn't say anything, knowing it would chime to let the other person know he had answered.

"So Joey said you fought with Dad again," Grant Wilson said without preamble. Dick huffed out a soft laugh, amused. Grant had been blunt, to the point of rudeness at times, from the moment the older boy had dragged Dick home, much to the exasperation of his father and the raucous amusement of his mother. "He also mentioned you moved out this time." There was a pause, a bit of a scuffle, and then, "Mom says to tell you good job." Of course she did. Addie was always more than amused when any of the kids decided to basically give her husband the middle finger. She usually laughed at his frustration and told him it was his own fault for training them all to be mercenaries.

"Thanks." Dick's voice sounded almost as raspy and rough as Grant's, even though he hadn't spent the last two weeks trying to find stolen blood diamonds in South Africa and not sleeping nearly as much as he should.

There was another pause and the muffled sound of talking as his big brother relayed the message. Then Grant said, "Rose is worried about you."

"I'll call her," Dick promised. His baby sister was perhaps his favorite person in the whole wide world, even if she was a little bit crazy. Honestly, every single one of Slade's kids were just a little crazy, even if Addie did like to delude herself by claiming that Joey, at least, had turned out normal. Joey spent most of his time in New York with a group of heroes calling themselves the Titans doing the whole superhero thing that had cost him his voice, and almost cost him his life. If that didn't qualify him as just a little bit crazy, then Dick didn't know what did.

"Good." There was a shifting sound, probably Grant getting comfortable on a hotel bed and then, "Joey said he's planning on calling you in the morning, so be ready for that." Dick hummed his thanks for the heads up. Joey was somehow a morning person, despite sometimes staying up far past midnight the night before, and would undoubtedly call him before seven. Dick would need to head in soon if he wanted to be able to string enough words together to even attempt a video chat session.

Dick relaxed as Grant told him all about South Africa. He and Addie had left two and a half weeks ago to retrieve some diamonds for a seemingly reputable jewelry companion. Things had gone badly almost from the start when the company proved to be crooked, and what had been intended to be a three day job had stretched out far longer than any of them could have imagined. Grant sounded like he was trapped in that strange state where he was exhausted, but still too hyped up on adrenaline to sleep. He'd probably talked to Rose as well as Joey before contacting Dick, just to make sure he was emotionally stable enough to have a conversation. Joey was pretty easy going and Rose was almost as blunt as Grant, so neither one of them was liable to spiral and over analyze things if their older brother had to hang up on them. Dick could and would, so usually he was last on his big brother's call list. He was okay with that. It was a less stressful experience all the way around this way.

"Mom and I will be back home late tomorrow evening, but I'll text you when we get stateside," Grant said after wrapping up the story. "Until then, don't do anything stupid, or I'll track you down and murder you."

"Promise," Dick rasped, voice warm with amusement, and Grant barked out an amused laugh.

"Oh, and Bluebird, maybe do some more modifications on that Ravager armor you stole and repainted from the last time Dad got you into it for a mission. It's not exactly built for cold weather." Then Grant signed off before Dick could do more than let out an indignant squawk. Dick dove off the building, flipping off the nearest security camera as he fell in sheer exasperation. Neither Slade nor Joey knew about the missing suit yet, or one of them would have contacted him about it. If Rose did, she wouldn't have said something to anyone, even Grant, because it could ruin the fun of having Slade find out mid-mission. Grant had hacked a security camera nearby and been spying on him, probably since before they'd started chatting. His found family was made up of ridiculous assholes.

Still talking to Grant had left him feeling more settled than he had been. Leaving behind the veritable fortress that was masquerading itself as the Wilson family home had been a risk, but not an impulsive one. Slade Wilson was many things, and few of them good, but among the list of his attributes was that he was the worse kind of overprotective parent. Addie was happy to let her children make their own mistakes, provided that they were not mistakes caused by her husband's unconventional occupation, but Slade was a helicopter parent.

Dick had put up with the hovering from the man longer than his brothers. Grant had stormed out at eighteen with nothing but the clothes on his back and hadn't returned until Christmas the next year. Joey had been cleverer about his exodus. He'd skipped the massive all-out arguments Grant and Dick had gotten into. Instead he'd packed his bags while Slade was on a mission and gone off to join his friend Rachel in her efforts to start a teen superhero group in New York. When Slade had returned to his mission, it had been to Addie, Dick, and Rose acting like there was absolutely nothing new about Joey's absence. Dick was fairly certain that his little sister had a picture of their father's befuddled, exhausted expression while Addie explained what had happened while he was away.

Dick had experienced the same frustration as his brothers, but it had been tempered by a heady sense of fear. His escape from his masters, with Grant's assistance, meant that he was still being hunted. The chances of a Talon infiltrating the Wilson home without setting off one of the many layers of security was highly improbable, so the sense of safety that had provided had kept him home, aside from an occasional mission as Slade's backup. In the recent past couple of years though, he'd grown more bold. There'd been no sign of the court since he was eleven, and watching even his youngest sibling go out alone a handful of times using the Ravager alias had worn on him. He and Slade had fought over his adopted father's inability to let Dick go out on a mission on his own. Slade had left when their argument had almost come to blows, going on a long walk to reign in his temper. Dick had packed up and left while his father was out, buying the cheapest plane ticket he could find and using all the tricks Slade had shown him over the years to get the armor and weapons through airport security. That was how he'd ended up in Bludhaven.

Stepping into his brand new apartment was a relief. The thermostat was set to seventy, and he knew he would cringe at the heating bill later, but right now he didn't care. Dick Grayson did not handle the cold well. He ducked into the bedroom to quickly change out of the armor, silently considering the best way to insulate it from the cold. Dick had rarely been in charge of his own uniforms. The Court had designed their own largely for aesthetic reasons, and Slade was especially particular about what armor his children wore on the increasingly common occasions where they put themselves in danger. Dick had no idea how to insulate armor so he wouldn't freeze in his new home city's frosty winter nights. All he could think of was fleece, and he would sweat so much in that once he started fighting. Joey was going to laugh so hard at him tomorrow. So hard. He slipped into his fuzziest pajamas and buried himself under a pile of blankets, more than ready to thaw out. He'd worry about winter modifications and his siblings making fun of him tomorrow.

* * *

_January 22nd, 2:47 AM_

_Gotham City, New Jersey_

* * *

He was still seething, a pot boiling over with rage. Jason Todd clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, struggling against the green haze that hissed in his head. The Gotham night was frigid, icy wind blowing in sleet from the harbor. He could barely feel the cold with the way anger burned all the way down into his bones. Talia had broken him out of Arkham four days after he'd been soundly defeated by Batman and dumped him at the city limits with a strict order to leave. He hadn't. Instead he'd gone inwards, tracking the gang he'd jumbled together when he'd been going after Bruce, only to find them taking orders from one of Talia's lieutenants and trying to prove that they were good little lapdogs.

Anger had taken over in a wave of green, and when it had cleared, Talia's man and those that had been pledging their loyalty to her had been dead, body parts strewn across the abandoned dock. He couldn't stay here. Jason was still healing from his last encounter with Bruce, and the gang he thought he'd built to back him up had been all to eager to sell out. Staying in Gotham was a trap that would only result in him being shunted back into the asylum, this time for good. As much as he hated to, he was going to have to leave his self-appointed mission unfinished for now. He needed a fresh start, and a chance to build up something that was entirely his own.

The League had proved to be untrustworthy help, just waiting for the moment he fell short of their expectations to remove him from the equation. Bruce was unwilling to bend in his ideals, more ready to watch Gotham's wreckage burn than he was to finish off the demented clown that had tormented and killed so many people. Jason needed a place nearby, so he could keep an eye on his old mentor's nightly business, but entirely out of the Bat's sphere of influence. Bludhaven would do. Gotham's nastier little sister, just over an hour away, abounded in the kind of filthy underhanded dealings that even Batman wouldn't dare touch. Jason would set up shop there, do things his way, and come back with his own force behind him, one that was loyal and not ready to lick Talia's boots at the drop of a hat.

Mind made up, Jason turned and marched away from the blood soaked crime scene he was leaving behind. It was almost inevitable that he'd run into a mugger somewhere between the docks and the train station. He could take out the trash and get the money he'd need for a ticket all at the same time. Everything taken care of in one nice and efficient action, just like Talia was always claiming he didn't know how to do. Jason sneered, body still aching as he made his way into the dark. He'd be out of the city by morning, just like Talia wanted, but it was the last time he'd be following any of her orders ever again.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_March 29th, 1:57 AM_

_Bludhaven, New Jersey_

* * *

Dick Grayson wanted to punch someone. Maybe himself. He honestly wasn't sure yet. He'd spent the past couple of months working himself to the bone. He held down three part time jobs to pay for his dingy little apartment in one of the worst parts of the city, along with all of his currently subpar equipment, and took catnaps when he could before darting out at midnight and patrolling until somewhere around four in the morning. He was getting maybe three hours of sleep a day total, and not even three hours consecutively, which was beginning to stretch even his unnatural healing ability thin. If he'd gotten to the point of fully going through the process to become a true Talon before he fled with Grant, he might have been able to hold out, but as things stood something was going to have to give, and sooner rather than later.

Recently he'd found himself wondering if he should throw in the towel. Not a full size towel mind you, but maybe something like a hand towel where he admitted he needed help and let Slade fund his nighttime activities. That, however, required an actual conversation with dear old Dad after two months of ignoring any offers of help and operating on nothing more than sheer spite. The thought of braving that conversation had left him tossing and turning restlessly more than once when he should have been sleeping.

Grant would have told him to stop being an idiot and just call, but he was in the middle of a job in the Middle East and had few chances to chat. Dick missed his older brother more than he could properly put into words, but he just didn't have energy in the moment to try to coordinate a call with him. He didn't actually have energy for his normal routine either, but he was keeping it up through sheer stubborn willpower. He was also getting sloppy. This particular night was case in point.

It had started out well enough. Orion was known and feared in most of the Haven's dark, dingy underbelly. All Dick had needed to do was crack a couple of skulls and leave a handful of corpses in places public enough that they would end up on the five o'clock news. Things had actually begun to run more smoothly, when some giant calling himself Blockbuster had decided that he wanted the competition to go down, or something. Honestly, Dick had yet to figure out why Blockbuster was specifically targeting Orion when there was some trigger happy guy with a bright red helmet calling himself Red Hood going around and taking out nearly a quarter of Blockbuster's operations in the span of a month. It had to be personal, but Dick had yet to find time to figure out who Blockbuster actually was, so he was batting zero, so to speak.

Blockbuster was the reason Dick's perfectly normal night had gone to Hell in a handbasket in the span of about five minutes. Orion had been behind the oldest set of low income apartments in the Haven busting up a drug deal, because meth was a nightmare substance even in production and he wanted it far, far away from his city, when some low budget assassin calling himself Rango dropped off a rusty fire escape to try and kill him. Dick had not been impressed. He had been shot exactly once before he managed to snap the man's neck, sending the stupid black cowboy hat rolling across grimy, pitted pavement like a tumbleweed on the move. Normally that wouldn't haven been a problem, but normally Dick hadn't spent two months barely sleeping and only occasionally remembering to eat. His healing factor was good, but not that good.

Currently he was bleeding on the pavement wishing that the Court had at least finished enough of the process that he didn't feel pain. Being shot hurt. Not at first of course, when the body was still pushing so much adrenaline at you, but as soon as that faded the pain set in. Dick's nerves were screaming in an unhappy chorus at him that refused to be ignored, and the one attempt he'd made to stand had almost sent him crumbling back to the ground again. As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to have to call for backup. After all that time insisting he could do this on his own, he was going to have to admit that he was overwhelmed in the worst way possible. Dick sighed and lifted a hand to turn on his earpiece.

"Hey Dad," he said, voice more than a little rough. "If you have a minute, I could use some help." No response, but Dick knew better than to believe that meant Slade wasn't listening. The mercenary had been hanging around Bludhaven on a variety of small jobs for the last couple months. It had annoyed Dick earlier, but now he was just relieved that there was help nearby. Well, that and also that he hadn't managed to run into Red Hood on this particular night. The guy was good, obnoxiously so, and had definitely shot Orion more than once, especially since he'd found out that it didn't do any permanent damage.

As if summoned by that stray thought, an unfortunately familiar modulated voice mused, "What the fuck is up with the cowboy hat?" Dick groaned. A moment later Red Hood sauntered around the corner, the black cowboy hat in hand. Dick noted absently that the silver sequins decorating the hat glimmered in the flickering, weak yellow light from the nearest streetlight. "Orion?" the other vigilante asked curiously.

"Yo," Dick rasped out, knowing Rose would have about laughed herself sick at that greeting. Red Hood actually visibly faltered a bit at his voice and Dick realized abruptly that he hadn't actually spoken to the other vigilante before. There just hadn't been a reason to talk to him. Dick wasn't particularly chatty in battle, though he remembered vague flashes of being a particularly talkative child. The Court had beaten that out of him rather quickly, and his raspy, ruined voice left him very little desire to talk to anyone that wasn't his family.

"Shit, what happened to you, man?" Red Hood asked, sounding more than a little worried. Dick tilted his head, bemused.

"Got shot," he said.

"I've shot you loads of times and you've never looked like this," Red Hood protested.

At the same time Slade's voice over the earpiece demanded, "Where are you?"

"In the alley between Gloucester Avenue and Bay Street," Dick rasped.

"I know that. I'm standing right across from you," Red Hood said irritably. "Are you concussed or something too?" Dick pointed silently towards the earpiece. Red Hood went still in the way some people did when they were trying to hide that they felt embarrassed.

"I'm on my way," Slade said in the earpiece.

"Should go," Dick told Red Hood, frowning slightly when the sentence came out in entirely fragmented English. The last thing he needed was a show down between Slade and this particular vigilante. All Dick wanted was to do was get patched up, clean off in a hot shower, and curl up under a pile of blankets to sleep for ten hours. He did not want to try to break up a fight between his adoptive father and a trigger happy crime lord when he couldn't even stand without passing out.

"Before your backup gets here, you mean?" Red Hood deduced.

"Yes."

"Whatever you say," Red Hood said after a brief pause. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Dick agreed and then the other vigilante was gone as if he'd been taking lessons from Batman. Dick lay on the ground in a slowly growing puddle of his own blood, alone for only a couple minutes before Slade dropped off the nearest roof, barely making a sound even in his armor. "Dramatic," Dick grumbled tiredly.

"You can snipe at me when you're not bleeding out in an alley," Slade replied, easily hefting him up in a fireman's carry over one shoulder. Dick huffed out a soft, slightly pained breath of protest but didn't argue. Slade seemed mildly amused at the moment, but Dick knew he was absolutely going to get lectured about not being stupid. For now, he wasn't going to push it. He'd let himself get lugged back to a safehouse, undoubtedly one of Slade's instead of one of his, and get properly patched up before he started causing trouble again.

* * *

_March 29th, 3:22 AM_

_Bludhaven, New Jersey_

* * *

Jason felt rather like he'd lost the plot somewhere along the line. He'd just been starting to get into the swing of things too. Bludhaven's up and coming vigilante, Orion, was more of Jason's type of vigilantism than Bruce's, not that they bonded over fancy coffees about it. Honestly Jason had shot the other vigilante on instinct the first time they'd tangled, which had kind of set the tone for the rest of their encounters. Orion had, of course, shaken off the bullet wound with frightening ease and Jason had bolted at the first opportunity, unwilling to fight with a metahuman who could walk off a bullet wound to the shoulder.

Their next few encounters had gone along in a similar strain. Orion had obviously decided that Jason was not going to be at all friendly and had reacted accordingly. Jason had quickly realized that the other vigilante wasn't outright trying to kill him like Orion did some of the assorted drug dealers and gun runners that frequented Bludhaven's shadiest areas, though he wasn't sure if he should be offended about that or relieved. He was a threat, damn it, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know what you needed to do to make Orion want to kill you if it wasn't shooting him in every single encounter.

Tonight had been weird. Jason must have shot Orion at least a dozen times before and the man had just shaken each one off like he was the Black Knight declaring that it was "just a flesh wound." That was probably why it had been so jarring to come around the corner and see the vigilante lying in a slowly growing puddle of his own dark blood. Things had only gotten weirder when Orion had actually decided to talk to him.

Jason had been half convinced that Orion couldn't talk. It wasn't that he wasn't used to the strong and silent type, because Batman had been anything but chatty, but Orion's complete lack of noise had been disconcerting. The other vigilante didn't even really make a noise when he was shot, which was weird. Jason had been shot before and it definitely wasn't all roses, though he supposed it might be different if you were able to shrug off a bullet wound like it was nothing more than a papercut. Jason had tried to engage the other vigilante in pointless banter during a couple of their early encounters, only to get stone cold silence in response. Needless to say, hearing Orion talk in a voice that sounded like it had gone through an industrial sized cheese grater had been really disorienting. Honestly Jason wasn't sure that the whole thing hadn't been just some strange fever dream.

Honestly, Jason hoped the guy ended up okay. He was kind of fun to fight, and his beef with Jason seemed to stem from being shot during their first encounter and not from Red Hood's chosen philosophy for dealing with the Haven's criminal elements. Jason hadn't stuck around to see if Orion's backup had actually made an appearance, because if the other vigilante was going out of his way to warn Red Hood away then it was probably better to just leave, but he kind of wished he had at least watched from a distance. Now he was going to spend the next few hours wondering if he'd ever see the other vigilante again.

Jason groaned as he rested his head on his desk, which was the only thing in his safehouse besides the bed that was fully unpacked. He'd been so busy establishing himself as a proper crime lord, this time without any of the League's intelligence or assistance. It was hard, exhausting work, made more difficult by Orion's unpredictability. The other vigilante seemed to share Jason's distaste for anyone dealing to children, but other things seemed to set him off almost randomly. The last guy to be brutally murdered by Orion had been an up and coming gun runner. Despite his best efforts, Jason had managed to figure out what the idiot had done to piss off Orion so badly, but his corpse had been dumped in a fountain and his head had been displayed at the top surrounded by a ring of holly. Orion's unpredictability made it difficult to recruit without worrying about whether one of his people would be the next one to end up decapitated in a fountain.

His head was throbbing. Jason really needed some sleep, but he'd settle for a nice cup of hot black coffee. Unfortunately he didn't have a working coffee maker. He'd have to change into street clothes and find a coffee shop that hopefully had a halfway decent brew. After two months of being in Bludhaven, he probably should have found a favorite, but he'd had other priorities. Now he was going to have to wing it.

Changing into street clothes was easier than it had been the other nights he ran into Orion. The man was brutally efficient in his fights, though he seemed to struggle the most when it came to pulling back from a lethal blow. Jason normally came out of their encounters with bruises on top of bruises. It was nice to be able to change shirts without feeling something twinge unhappily at the motion. Jason moved to strap a gun on, then sighed and put it back. He didn't need one to be dangerous in his own right, and he didn't want to deal with the trouble if some cop decided to arrest him for concealed carry. He just wanted some damn coffee.

The air outside was cold. Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders a little against the bite in the wind as he marched down the mostly dark streets, the occasional streetlight casting a flickering circle of watery yellowish light in his path. Most of Bludhaven was dark, either still asleep or plotting foul deeds in the shadows, but a handful of convenience stores were open. That wasn't what Jason had in mind when he'd left the apartment, but it was going to have to do. There weren't many coffee shops open at just shy of four in the morning.

Jason stepped through the grimy front door of a tiny little Citgo gas station and scanned his surroundings. The convenience store was surprisingly clean, despite its dirty exterior, and empty save for a tiny brunette who barely looked up from some kind of textbook she was hunched over. At the back of the convenience store was a pot of coffee that was mostly empty and probably a little bit burnt. Jason wrinkled his nose a bit at the smell, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him and he had no desire to walk any further in search of a theoretical better late night convenience store brew. He poured himself a cup, mixed in some creamer to hopefully mask the burnt taste, and headed up to the front of the store.

The girl behind the counter, whose name was Tammi apparently, looked up from her Biology text book to ring him up. Her smile was worn, but friendly, and she didn't bother with any kind of banter as she punched the right button to ring up his purchase and told him the total. She looked more resigned than anything else when he counted out coins and pushed them across the counter. She dropped them in the register and gave him a little amicable wave as he headed towards the exit before turning back to her textbook.

Back outside in the cold, Jason took a sip and frowned at the taste. Sure enough, the powdered vanilla creamer didn't do much to mask the burnt taste the coffee left in his mouth. Still it was better than nothing. Jason took another drink and started back towards the apartment. He had things to do and he was wasting precious time. Especially since he could safely assume that Orion would be out of commission for the rest of the night, which meant he could do some recruiting without worrying about another vigilante bursting in during his recruitment pitch. Without meaning to, Jason grinned. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_March 29th, 2:17 AM_

_Bludhaven, New Jersey_

* * *

"You're an idiot." Dick hissed in pain as the bullet was removed from his stomach and barely resisted the urge to squirm. He hated lectures from Slade. They always made him feel about two feet tall. "You got in over your head, and instead of calling for help you kept going. Be mad at me all you want, but call for help when you need it."

"I called you, didn't I?" Dick said sullenly. He almost immediately regretted it.

"Don't sass me, kid," Slade growled and Dick slumped further down on the couch, ignoring the twinge of still healing muscles. "The only reason you called is because you didn't want to leave a bloody trail back to your nest if you crawled." Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong. Dick kind of hated him for it. Slade sighed, which meant Dick probably looked sufficiently cowed, and added, "At least promise me you'll call Addie next time."

"Do you make Grant promise to call? Or Rose?" Dick asked, unable to help himself. "Damnit, Dad! I'm not a little kid anymore. You can't keep treating me like one."

"You're nineteen," Slade replied coldly. "And delusional if you think I'm going to let one of my kids kill themselves out of sheer spite."

"I'm not trying to kill myself!"

"You could've fooled me." Dick tried to rear up, annoyed, only to yelp when Slade casually put pressure on his still healing wound. "Your healing factor's almost as good as mine kid, and you've stressed it well beyond its ability to fix you, all because you're too stubborn to ask for help."

"Because your help comes with strings attached," Dick retorted. He knew he shouldn't be picking a fight with Slade but he couldn't help it. He was feeling cornered, and he hated it. "The last thing I wanted was you trying to take over-"

"Take over what, exactly?" Slade questioned wryly but Dick ignored him, pressing on.

"-and lock me away back home, again."

"I'm not trying to keep you locked up."

"Oh really?" Dick sneered, rising up again only to be pushed firmly back down. "You've sent Grant on dozens of missions on his own by now-"

"Grant is perfectly capable of handling the solo missions he takes."

"And I'm not?" Slade arched an eyebrow and Dick scowled, hating that his current state helped prove the man's point. "What about Rose then? We all know how the mission in Montenegro went, not to mention the whole thing in Lima. She turned simple missions into disasters both times, but you still let her go out on her own without tailing her every step of the way."

"Rose proved herself capable, even if she wasn't supposed to be in Montenegro in the first place."

"And I somehow haven't proved myself capable?" Dick challenged. He'd been trained as an assassin when he was a child. Killing people was as easy as breathing, and few people were as effective when it came to stealth as he was, yet somehow Slade didn't think he was capable of taking on missions on his own. Meanwhile Rose was about as subtle as a stick of dynamite and tended to make every job she landed ten times more complicated than it should have been, and his adopted father had no problem letting her take solo missions.

"I just dragged your bleeding body out of an alley, so no," was the cold response. Dick felt like screaming. This was the whole reason he hadn't wanted to call Slade in the first place. He wasn't a little kid, hadn't really been one since he watched his parents fall to their deaths, yet Slade continued to treat him like one. Frustration overrode the exhaustion and hurt, which was probably why he said what he did next.

"It's because I'm not one of your real kids, isn't it? You still just see some ragtag little assassin your oldest dragged home." He fought back the tears that wanted to fall, too angry to even think of letting Slade see him vulnerable.

The apartment fell silent. Dick could hear the refrigerator humming and the soft whump of the furnace kicking on again. Slade, however, was completely silent. Dick wasn't actually sure that his adoptive father was breathing. Then at last the man said, "Get some sleep." It wasn't barked, but it was an order none-the-less. Slade was gone before Dick could even find the words to apologize.

"Fuck," he muttered with feeling, dropping his head back against the couch cushions and staring at the old water stain in the middle of the ceiling. He really wanted to get up and find his phone so he could call Grant and fix this, but his muscles were lead bars weighing him down and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His wound ached and squirmed uncomfortably as it knit itself back together. It wasn't enough to keep him awake. Dick closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Slade wouldn't go far.

* * *

_March 29th, 4:16 AM_

_Bludhaven, New Jersey_

* * *

"Did you tell him?" Grant's voice was tired but alert on the other end of the line.

"No." Slade leaned against the doorway, staring into the dark living room. Dick was asleep on the hand-me-down green couch. The patch of blood on the gauze covering the bullet hole in his side had finally stopped expanding. It would be a pain to pull off later, but the kid was healing so that was a minor concern. "He blew up on me. Accused me of coming in to take over so I could send him back home."

"You've been overprotective and haven't explained why. I think he has the right to be mad at you, but you didn't call to get my opinion on the matter at hand, did you?"

Sometimes Slade missed when his oldest son had been young and impulsive. Sure, it had netted them a tiny, traumatized assassin in training, but it also meant that Grant hadn't been analyzing his every move. That was Slade's fault, in all honesty. His habit of being a closed book to even his own children had left them turning to Addie for lessons, and she had always been eerily good at picking him apart. She'd taught their children well, though Grant was the only one who tended to use it directly against him.

"No, it wasn't," he admitted, keeping a close eye on Dick to make sure the kid wasn't showing any signs of waking. "I have a meeting in Metropolis, but I need someone to stick around Bludhaven in case the Owls decide to make their move." Slade's meeting was with Lex Luthor. The businessman was not a client he wanted any of his children around. Luthor was too willing to throw others to their deaths if it gave him a chance to go after Superman. Slade could survive anything the businessman threw at him, but his children were another story.

"I'm not lying to Dick," Grant warned. "If he asks why I'm hanging around, I'll tell him truth."

"That's fine," Slade dismissed, unbothered by how willing his oldest was to throw him under the bus. "I wasn't intending to keep it a secret in the first place."

"Which part? That I'm acting as a glorified babysitter for one of my adult siblings or that the Court is starting to cause trouble in Gotham again?"

"Either of them." Slade had suspected that the Court of Owls was on the move again almost a year ago with the death of the socialite daughter of one of Gotham's wealthy elite. The girl had been found with a knife buried in her right eye socket, but Gotham was so inundated with crime that the death of one girl, even one from a wealthy family, took the police department ages to process. By then the Court had used their resources to hide away most of the evidence before making their next move.

Lately they'd been getting less subtle. A small handful of people, all of whom seemed largely inconsequential, had shown up dead with the same style of intricate knife buried somewhere lethal on their person and a Barred Owl feather in one hand. That was when Slade had started to worry. Before the Court had seemed wary about making any big plans, but now whatever they were working towards was in motion, and he held no illusions that it wouldn't involve taking Dick back.

He would have happily burned the Court to the ground and ensured every last member was dead if they hadn't made their home base in Gotham. Eight years ago, a small handful of Talons had burst into his home in search of an eleven year old boy who acted as if the world was going to end whenever Slade or Addie raised their voices. They'd met more resistance than they'd bargained for and left empty handed. Slade had burned two corpses to ash that night, knowing full well that the Court would try again some day. He'd toyed with the idea of going after them, but Gotham was Batman's territory. Slade could deal with the Bat, but not at the same time he was fighting with a handful of assassins who could heal from almost any wound. Besides, he wanted the Court gone permanently, not just locked away to rot in their cells until someone figured out how to break them out. Batman would have a problem with that.

"I'll change my flight around," Grant said. Slade could hear the click of a keyboard in the background. "I should be able to get to Bludhaven before our latest rebel gets more than a few minutes into whatever little patrol schedule he's got going."

"Thank you."

"Enjoy your meeting with Luthor," was Grant's cheery reply before he hung up. Slade sighed before tucking the phone away in his pocket and slipping away into the kitchen. He would hear if anything happened in the next room, and he had his own flight details to get in order. Briefly he considered getting in contact with Wintergreen before dismissing the idea. It was just a business meeting, and the other man would have his hide if he got pulled away from writing his memoir so they could sit around and talk business. He'd called Wintergreen in once he got the details from Luthor. It'd be nice to work with someone who wasn't one of his kids for a change. Silent as a specter, Slade settled down in one of the wobbly kitchen chairs and got to work.


End file.
